The Power of Letting Go
Most women will admit to their joy at seeing their sons marry. Few will admit to their sense of loss.
Shortly before my younger brother was about to walk down the aisle, it was obvious to my sister and me that our mom was struggling with her feelings. Mom thought she was hiding it pretty well, but this was her baby and her only son, and it was really hard for her to see him leave. Naturally, she wanted only the best for him and all the happiness in the world - but she secretly mourned the fact that a special time in her life was about to pass away. Her baby had grown up!
Being a devout Catholic, my mother always had a devotion to the "Blessed Mother." So, I put myself in my mothers shoes, and composed a poem to "Mary," and then mailed it to her. Something very strange happened to me as I created this poem. I began to feel, in depth, all the sadness and pain my mother was going through, and it became even deeper than that as the poem unfolded. Tears streamed down my face and i cried out loud. But as the poem progressed I saw the joy that was to follow, and in the matter of only a few minutes, the entire poem was written!
It would only be fitting to end these stories with this final poem. Any woman, of any faith, can relate to its universal feeling. It tells of one Mothers profound love:
"THE MOTHER OF THE GROOM!"
"THE MOTHER of the GROOM!"
(A Letter to Mary)
Dear Mother Mary,
How are you?
I hope you're doing fine.
I'd like to spend some time with you.
There's something on my mind.
My only son is leaving soon,
You see, he's just engaged.
The girl he's going to marry,
Is just about his age.
Now, I know I should be happy,
And pouring out the wine,
But way down deep inside me,
I want to keep him mine.
He's still my little boy you know,
I held him on my knee.
I watched him grow so fast and tall,
The handsome man you see.
He's been so great a joy to me,
How can I let him go?
The void that is to follow
Will surely be a blow.
Then--I think about that fateful noon,
The CROSS --before your eyes;
The only son you loved and held
Could barely hear your cries.
No--He wasn't being married
On an altar clean and bright,
But buried in a lonely tomb,
With dark, impending night.
It was a Wedding though,
That took place upon that day.
A Mother gave her Son,
In a Marriage bound to stay.
"He is the Groom, we are the Bride."
You held on to this view,
Then shared Him with the Whole World Wide,
Not keeping Him for you.
And oh! The joy you must have had
To see your "precious Lamb,"
When Easter Morn He came to you,
and said, "Mom, here I am."
I guess you're right; we're much alike.
It's not all doom and gloom.
In many ways I'm just like you,
"The Mother of the Groom."
~By Kathleen J Dolan
Kathleens type written note to her agent in NYC at the peak of her career!
